


The Feeding of the Ducks

by copycatgirl



Category: Picture of Dorian Gray - Oscar Wilde
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Headcanon, M/M, Oxford
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-25
Updated: 2012-09-25
Packaged: 2017-11-15 01:33:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/521687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/copycatgirl/pseuds/copycatgirl





	The Feeding of the Ducks

Winter was baring its teeth— it hadn’t yet bitten, but Basil Hallward could feel the threat of frost in the cold Autumn air. He pushed his hands down further into his pockets, pressing his fingertips against the worn lining of his old pea coat. Lord Henry Wotton was flitting about him in his usual manner, perfectly warm in a handsome greatcoat, leather gloves and some grotesque, absurd scarf that had once been a living creature.

”With all due respect, Lord Wotton,” the young artist ventured, “You’re a daft bugger to come out in the cold at this time to feed the blasted ducks.”

”Tongue, Mr Hallward,” Wotton reprimanded amusedly, leaning over the fence at the pond’s edge, his mouth moving slightly as he counted the ducks across the water’s surface, “Pass me the bread.”

”Waste of good bread, too,” Hallward muttered, pursing his lips as he handed Wotton the small, freshly baked loaf.

”Don’t worry, I’ll see to it that you’re well fed today,” Henry teased, flirting shamelessly in his body language and his one. Basil rolled his eyes in annoyance, but his countenance softened slightly. There was irresistible about the young Wotton, in his fluffy attempt at a pointed beard, his ludicrous epigrams, his bright, mischievous eyes and his nimble fingers as they casually held, as they often did, a cigarette. Basil was, alas, enraptured with this fool, which is why he took such pains to try to irritate and insult him.

”You shall not,” Basil retorted, his skinny body shivering under his few layers. At that, Harry turned around worth a grin, broke off a corner of the bread, and held it out against the other man’s lips.

”Quack,” he said, smirking, and Basil was unsure if this was a feeble attempt at imitate the ducks, or a command that he himself do so. Basil scowled.

”Wha—” he began, but could not finish his sentence, as no sooner had he opened his mouth than Harry had popped the piece of bread into it. Basil spluttered, and would have spat it out, only he was very hungry. He had been required to buy some new editions for his classes, and it had meant he’d gone without food for a day or two. But he wouldn’t tell Harry this unless it was absolutely necessary— he didn’t want the toff’s handouts. He chewed slowly, savouring it, and fixed Harry with a look of irritation before swallowing.

”You needed that,” Harry said quietly.

”Harry, don’t—” Basil groaned, but sure enough Harry was frogmarching him over to the nearest bench, pushing him down onto his backside and then sitting so close that they were practically in one another’s laps. Basil coloured furiously.

”When did you last eat?” Harry pouted. He looked like a petulant child, and Basil was angered that he thought it any of his business.

”About half a minute ago,” he answered with just the hit of a sneer.

”Don’t try to be smarmy, Basil, it doesn’t suit you,” Harry snapped “When did you last eat a meal?”

”… Tuesday. Breakfast time,” Hallward admittedly hesitantly.

”Good God, man, it’s Thursday morning!” Harry barked.

”I’m aware of that, Harry. I’ve been aware of that since you dragged me out of my bed at an ungodly hour to feed the ducks.”

”Sod the ducks—”

”I believe that violates at least two English laws.”

”Be quiet. Blast the ducks, I’m going to feed you.”

Basil prickled, his blush deepening.

”Harry—”

”I will not see you go hungry,” Harry insisted, looking right into Basil’s face, his expression seeming earnest, “You shan’t want for anything if I have my way.”

”Why must everything… be about you…” Basil struggled uncomfortably, painfully conscious of his hunger now it had been pointed out, and shutting his eyes in mortification as his stomach rumbled loudly. Harry smiled, the smile reaching up to his eyes, and kissed the tip of Basil’s nose quickly.

”Here,” he said, breaking off more of the bread and holding it up to Basil’s mouth. He took it reluctantly, finding that plain bread tastes its best when one is very hungry. He took the next piece more eagerly, the next ravenously, then the last with an unexpected breathy moan of pleasure. The next thing that he knew, he was leaning against Harry’s shoulder, whilst the other man rubbed at his near-empty, abruptly-awakened stomach, Harry’s hands beneath his coat but above his pullover. He was surprised at how pleasant the sensation was.

”Come now,” Wotton said eventually, “I am taking you the breakfast, and you will eat your fill. Forget your pride— I beg you this one indulgence. I will not buy you anything else you do not want if you allow me to see to it that you are well fed.”

Basil sighed, and knew that this was a battle that he had lost. He nosed Harry’s earlobe, and then lifted his head again.

”All right. I accept, if I must.”

Harry grinned wickedly.

”I shall have you as plump as a partridge before we leave Oxford.”

”Nonsense,” Basil scoffed fondly, allowing himself to be lead away from the pond.


End file.
